Warfare

Alright, you stupid fuckin’ morons! Our guy’s back on medically mandated rest, but this time, he has energy to do things. What’s he gonna do with it? Host a Let’s Talk about Our Shitty Parents Party! There’s a lot of shitty parents to talk about in Arda. Let’s start with the shittiest non-god parent of the lot: Fëanor―the man who had so many mommy issues that he refused to spend time with his siblings, refused to give the Star Tree Balls back to Yavanna, made all his sons swear an Oath to get them back, rejected all of Nerdanel’s names for their youngest sons, and burned their second-youngest son alive because he wanted to go back to his responsible parent. If you’re going to burn boats, check where all your sons are first!

Now, our guy does agree it was silly to name both of them Ambarussa. He says it’s either because Fëanor knew she could do better than that―without explaining that to her very well. Or it’s because he secretly knew that all except one of their kids would later on become better known by their mother-names. Their mother is better at coming up with names!

We know it’s because their mom, as the one who named them later, likely had more insight into their character and all that, but fuck being understanding! That idiot named their second-to-last son “Last Finwë” when there was a latter-more son to name “Last Finwë” instead! Was Fëanor so stupid that he failed to noticed his wife was still in labor? He also named their second-oldest son “Commanding Finwë”! What did Fëanor want his son to command his father to do? Fëanor is a very silly boy!

Curufin is the only one who translated his father-name into Sindarin. There’s always that one weirdo in the family! Another way he’s a weirdo amongst his siblings is: he’s the only one who successfully sired a child, Celebrimbor. Celebrimbor is another silly name. It means “Silver Fist”. That man does not have a silver fist! Those are just normal fists! Curufin really is just like his father, including being terrible at coming up with names!

Now, believe it or not, there’s a man who’s even worse at coming up with names than both Curufin and Fëanor combined: J.R.R. Tolkien! He named barely any of the women. He was so obsessed with warfare that he forgot to name a lot of Ardan women, including, but not limited to: Gimli, son of Glóin’s mom; and Maglor, Caranthir, and Curufin’s wives; and both Queens of the Woodland Realm.

Who writes about royalty and forgets to at least name the queens? Good lord, what kind of author / historian is that? He needs some backup! Maybe if he’d spent less time fiddling with the Silmarillion, and more time focusing on the families that created / married all these warfare-obsessed Peoples he was playing with, that would’ve freed up time to figure out, “Okay, what kind of woman would these idiots have fallen in love with?”

Well, since he’s too dead to name them, we’re naming them for him! We won’t claim we’re the first to do this, but everybody loves a good smackdown! Today, we’re smacking down Tolkien!

If anyone from the Tolkien Estate stumbles upon this, we do ultimately appreciate him for building Arda, and writing stories within it. Our guy’s the devil in the details. There’s lots of details to be devilish in.

If any Tolkien scholars say, “Well, of course he didn’t name the kin-slayers’ wives! And he definitely wouldn’t have named Gimli, son of Glóin’s mom―she’s working class! He wanted to write about royalty and warfare and myths and legends, etc.” Yes, we understand that. However, as previously stated, who the hell writes about royalty and forgets to name half the royalty? Come on now! Every single author on AO3 is better at this than him. That includes our guy! His handle is Hiver_Frost_Elf. Just be mind the tags, warnings, ratings, and author’s notes. Not every single story is suited for people who aren’t used to scandalous literature. Plus, he wrote most of those when he was just coming out of his shell as an author and first starting to make author friends. Unlike some people in his family, he is content with his maps and books. You really shouldn’t be going on adventures amidst a pandemic that has killed nearly 6 million people. The stress from this, as well as the usual stress of trying to survive a body that wasn’t built properly for him, and his usual daily grind at work all contributed to his need to be placed on two rounds of medically mandated rest. History came back to haunt him, alright.

More on that later, we’re here to write a Tolkien smackdown. And as previously stated, he’s dead anyway, what’s he gonna do about it? If the Tolkien Estate gets upset at a random weirdo writing some silly essays―that’s right, everyone, there’s more coming! And they only get sillier from here―they need some perspective! Lord of the Rings is one of the highest-grossing franchises ever. They need to remember that the creator of this franchise smacked down the Dwarves for being greedy and stubborn*. Is the Tolkien Estate greedy and stubborn, too?

*Yes, we know this is because Tolkien based the Dwarves on stereotypes of Jews―i.e. longer noses, longer and darker hair, longer beards, losing their ancestral homes. Jews were only allowed to be bankers throughout the Middle Ages because the Christians considered handling money “unclean”. Well, too bad! Someone needed to handle the financials! And since the Christians were apparently too easily corrupted to do it, the Jews got down to business. Yes, money can corrupt, but my god! You need balance! Tolkien was a Catholic, a type of Christianity. This ultimately flavored his world-building whether even he likes it or not.

This isn’t a topic we’re qualified to speak on. Maybe, if you all ask Evelyn Silver really nicely, she’ll write an essay. She’s already written a fascinating essay on colonialism within Lord of the Rings. She even made a video version, too! Did you know that the Haradrim are Black? “What are the Haradrim?” Exactly! Lord of the Rings is more than just The Hobbit and the Holy Trinity, you know. Why don’t you read Evelyn Silver’s essay and find out what the Haradrim are? Evelyn Silver actually is a Jewish person, and is thus more qualified to speak on matters of Jewish representation. This is just what our guy came up with off the top of his head. He thought he’d bring the matter and a fellow writer friend’s works to your attention. While it is a worthwhile discussion, our guy is neither qualified nor studied enough to elaborate on it.

And he has even less time to get into the immorality of calling all the Orcs foul and unclean because they’re enslaved, and likening them to Black People―even going so far as to call their horribly incomplete language Black Speech. And then making the Haradrim side with Sauron. Yes, racism and slavery are evil. If you need someone to tell you that racism and slavery are evil, you are too immature to appreciate this essay. No story’s perfect! If perfectly pure literature is what you seek, read Blue’s Clues instead! (No offense to fans of Blue’s Clues. We’re fans of Blue’s Clues, too!) The point of writing anything―an essay or otherwise―is to challenge the reader, bring something new to the table, or just have some fun (whatever the author considers fun to be). Our guy’s too much of a perfectionist! He’s challenging himself to stop being such a perfectionist. Likewise, he is challenging you to remember what Lord of the Rings actually is: a bunch of stories written by an old white man. Not everything ages like fine wine!

The Ardan Elves are a simpler people, who were created by a simpler person during a simpler time. They don’t even care for the Dwarves; of course, they’d be even stupider, even racist-er assholes to the Orcs! Arda is not an idyllic fairyland. There’s freakin’ war around every corner! If you would prefer to not to engage with less modern people not conforming to modern-day sensibilities, skip ahead to the tale of Oropher and his wifey. Not that any of these things excuse the behavior, of course; but like we said, our guy’s a perfectionist. He’s daring himself to allow characters to have flaws.

Finally! Back to the business at hand! Proving how much better our guy is at coming up with names than Tolkien: the creator of this warfare-crazed, treasure-obsessed world; that, at the end of the day, our guy loves very much! One important part of writing an essay is having a goal in mind, even if it’s a silly goal like starting a rivalry with someone who’s dead! Seriously, Tolkien, who the hell writes about royalty without naming half the royalty? Come on, now! You’re not a historian or a husband or an author, you’re just some random guy named Tolkien!!!

Tolkien needs to be renamed Daluchi (Igbo. Thank God). He needs to thank god that Caranthir’s not real! If he was, Caranthir all on his own would send him to the Halls of Mandos! Add in Curufin, and Maglor, and Glóin son of Gróin, and both Kings of the Woodland Realm? That’s the just the start of it! How many of the Dwarven Fathers’ wives did Daluchi forget to name? If you love Ardan Dwarves, please tell us in the comments section how many Ardan Dwarven women―royalty, wives, or not―went tragically unnamed. Daluchi created quite a sprawling world. However, as previously stated, he left a lot of details to be devilish in.

Now, another fair warning, there is mention of spousal and familial abuse in the stories of Caranthir and Curufin’s wives. No relationship is perfect, just like no person is perfect. All of Fëanor’s kids were considered fiery by Ardan Elf standards. And Ardan Elves definitely did not have modern-day mental healthcare―as flawed and imperfect as it is. Caranthir likely would’ve unleashed his anger issues on unintended targets, but assuming he wasn’t a complete monster (which we are because somehow, he convinced someone to marry him), he would’ve taken care of them afterwards. Not everyone with mental health issues takes it out on their loved ones, but neurotypical people need to understand that when your neurotype isn’t supported very well by the society and / or family you grow up in, of course there’s going to be consequences. You shouldn’t need to be a genius to figure that out, you just need thoughts in your head! Besides, even neurotypical people abuse their loved ones. Don’t act so high and mighty! Not all evils are caused by dark spirits, demons, and devils. Sometimes, hell is the home is you’re raised in, and the education you’re tortured into accepting. Any readers who would prefer to not engage with such stories should skip ahead to the story of Oropher and his wifey.

There’s also a minor mention of blood, and death. They’re kin-slayers! They did what they did best and slew kin!

“[I]t is hard for many people to abandon the concept that human beings are angels imprisoned in earthly shells.”

David Livingstone Smith, The Most Dangerous Animal: Human Nature and the Origins of War.

Maglor’s wife is named Pirucendie (pirouetting one). He fell in love with her because he is a musician, and she danced to his music. Easy! If Maglor’s such a good minstrel, he can weave his own words about his wifey! If he can’t, that’s not a man or a husband or a minstrel, that’s just some random guy named Maglor!!! Caranthir and Curufin need a storyteller more. Not everyone’s a wordsmith like him.

“Life is hard, even more so for those who lack a sense of humor.”

A.J. Garces, illustrator.

Caranthir’s wife is named Fealassie (joyous spirit). He considered it a joy that someone else had even more anger issues than he did!

“If you even dare take your anger issues out on any children that come of this marriage, I will kin-slay you, is that understood, Mólo!?!”

Mólo (male slave), was not her marriage-name for him, she just called him that for funsies. And Caranthir agreed whole-heartedly! If he ever took it out on their potential future children, he deserved to be kin-slain.

When he inevitably did take his anger issues out on Fealassie, he apologized and pampered her profusely―and then snuck out of the house once she fell asleep and begged Curufin to make her something pretty.

Curufin’s wife is named Alye (Prosperous/Rich/Blessed One). He named her this to remind her that she was a prosperous one now! He figured out that gifts were better signs of love for her because she’d had to lie to everybody in her family pretty much all her life. He told his remaining brothers, “We need to kin-slay them for what they did to her! She thinks I am lying when I tell her that I love her! She is brilliant, her talents were wasted on them! If she never wants to speak of her family ever again, she doesn’t have to. Let her keep her secrets. I, myself, have heard plenty! We shall go have a feast of the two houses, wait until the men have drunken themselves into a stupor, and then do what we do best: be the most dishonorable family in all of Arda!”

It was a grand marriage feast indeed! A feast of blood! Those fools didn’t know what hit ’em!

“Caranthir! I am making something for my own wife!” Curufin roared, exasperated at yet another visit this moon. “What did you do to yours this time!?”

“Actually, she did something to me!” he said. “She slapped me! It was fantastic!”

“…What?!” Curufin put his tools down. Normally, he did so because otherwise, he’d throw them at Caranthir. He had half a mind to throw them at him anyway.

“Normally, it is me striking her; this time, she struck me!” Caranthir said proudly. “I am rewarding her for defending herself!”

“What..?”

“Imagine if our mother had been raised by Orcs,” Caranthir turned grave. It was a ghastly idea. Why would Caranthir foist such a thought onto anyone so lightly? “She is a sword whose smith tried to forge her into a shield, so now all she does is parry when she ought to press her advantage. Her words seep poison because she was never rewarded for raining honey.” His face grew grave. “I am teaching her how to defend herself to ensure such a fate does not befall her again. I am not a perfect man, nor a perfect husband, but I can do this much for her.”

Curufin agreed this was indeed a noble goal.

“Do tend to your own woman first. Mine will wait. I have other ways I can reward her in the meantime,” he said with a wry smile.

“Keep your Orcish thoughts away from my pure craft!” Curufin yelled back at him. “The flames are hot enough without you adding unneeded fuel!”

“Something with a ruby this time perhaps,” Caranthir said after he stopped laughing. “A bird with its wings spread bravely, finally allowed to take flight after a life caged by hounds who have mistaken it for one of their own. As the authority on anger issues in this family, no, those are not anger issues. Those are simply the consequences of lifelong entrapment.”

“Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.”

Sun Tzu, The Art of War.

Onto the kinder tales.

Oropher’s wife is named Berthoril (she who dares). She graced everyone’s eyes with her mere presence: the tall, proud woman who not only proposed to him, but demanded they wed.

“My father betrothed me to a coward! Absolutely not!” she’d snarled at him in front of his awe-struck yet trembling warriors. “I’m marrying a warrior whether either of them like it or not!!! Send both of them to the Halls of Mandos if that is what you must do to get me out of this farce of a match!”

“Understood, milady.”

Berthoril didn’t go down without a fight in battle or in bed. In hindsight, Oropher supposed it should’ve been obvious how rebellious Thranduil would become, as a child of his blood and her spirit. They hadn’t wasted time pondering the consequences of their actions. It was their wedding night. They had very exciting Ardan Elven traditions to follow! Oropher was expected to wed anyway, and wed he did! It was the most scandalous affair the Elves had ever seen even outside of Berthordil’s threats of murder. Oropher wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It was my wedding day.

It was our wedding day.

We were getting ready, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

No clouds allowed in the sky.

Bruno walks in with a mischievous grin-

Thunder!!

You telling this story, or am I?

I’m sorry, mi vida, go on~.

Bruno says, “It looks like rain”.

Why did he tell us?

In doing so, he floods my brain.

Abuela, get the umbrellas!

Married in a hurricane.

What a joyous day… but anyway.

We don’t talk about Bruno, no, no, no!

Lin-manuel Miranda, We Don’t Talk About Bruno.

Thranduil’s wife is named Delieth (beautiful/delicate/lovely one). She was painting his prized elk, as usual, when he asked, “Are you painting me?”

Initially, she only faintly registered him over her more engrossing canvas and colors. Thranduil had many admirers, he did not need another. And more importantly, she did not need him. She was content with what she had: artistry.

When Delieth finally decided that she ought to be polite, lest he act even more immaturely than usual, she finally replied, “Why would I be painting you? The animals behave themselves better.”

Thranduil flustered, not used to being insulted so lightly. But he had a mystery to solve. “Why are the animals so still for you?”

“They are still for me because they know I am not interested in hunting them. I wish to admire them. I work my brushes swiftly, as I do not wish to waste their time, especially in the autumn, when they must dedicate themselves to preparing for the bane of fruits and leaves.”

“Are you painting me now?” he asked another day, excited to see what she was working on.

“Of course not,” she said without so much as glancing in his direction. “The animals have fairer forms than you. More colorful too.”

“Ni mestathol?” (Will you marry me?)

She turned to her head to him, as sharply as a bird would turn its own. Her frown was a line as flat and fine as the hairs of a brand new brush. The animals fled, knowing what Thranduil’s reaction to her answer would be. They returned once they felt safe. There was a flock of ravens that was quite eager to have a family portrait done. They hoped they hadn’t ruined all her hard work.

No, they had not. She was experienced in adapting to the fluttering and fleeing of even flightier creatures. The three chicks had forgotten their previous places, but they adjusted once she directed them accordingly.

“No!”

“What do you mean, ‘no’!?” At once, he stormed off to the King of the Woodland Realm. “Adar!!!”

“She is allowed to say no, Thranduil,” Oropher said. “You may be a prince, but there are limitations to what you are allowed to have. If this is how you react to a simple rejection, you are not ready to wed her even if she had said yes.”

Oropher let him cry in his room. His boy was spoiled. One could not be an Alphalag (Rushing / Impetuous Swan) in matters of love.

“Why do you seek out her company?” Oropher asked once his stupid cherub had finally calmed down. “You could have anyone fawning over you. What do you wish from your time with her?”

“I want her to paint me!”

“Why her specifically?” Oropher interrogated him harder. “You could have any artist in our kingdom render you.”

“She called me ugly!” he said. “I am not ugly, I am handsome! I shall prove it! She shall study me for her art and know that I am the mightiest in all of Middle-Earth in form and face!”

“Really?” Oropher said, wise to his son’s self-aggrandizing; as well as his heavily, intentionally biased reports of events. Thranduil was a warrior, not a scholar. But Oropher and Berthoril loved their little rascal anyway. “You are sure that is what she said?”

Thranduil, who was inexperienced in telling direct lies at that age, said, “She said animals have fairer forms than me!”

“That is not necessarily insulting you,” Oropher said. “Wild creatures do not trust just anyone. Painting is a skill best suited for a person with patience. Animals are not known to be patient. How then, do you suppose, is she able to render them in a fashion that they need?”

The twitching, boot-crushed cricket inside Thranduil’s head finally had a friend. A friend who was horrified at the state the current one was in! This cricket needed the best friend possible to inspire it to live again! The new cricket was determined to keep this overworked, horrifically-ignored corpse alive long enough to make some music.

“I shall ask her myself!” he said, darting out of the room like a kitten fresh from a long, lazy nap.

Delieth was painting a fox kit this time. It was proudly holding its first catch in its mouth: a mouse that yet lived. It was playing dead in order to secure its future prospects. The kit was too young to know the difference. Even the mouse pitied this poor little fox. Where were its parents? Was it all alone? The mouse was increasing in age. If it must die this day, it would die proudly helping to teach this silly little fox real hunting skills while it was yet young. The cute youth act would not work forever, but this youth needed as many mercies as this world would grant it.

“Why do animals love you so much?” Thranduil asked. Delieth was used to him barging in during the strongest daylight hours by now.

“Why does your elk love you?” she asked in return. “You have inspired quite a splendid creature to bear you in battle.”

“My elk?” he thought everybody in the kingdom knew about that. “It was the first friend I made here! It truly is inspiring, is it not? It is marvelous in form and battle! And it knows the ways of the Woodland Realm better than anyone in the forest guard!”

“Presumably, that is due to it being one with this land, is it not?”

“Well, yes,” he had no fancier answer for her.

“Is that all you want in life, friends who can fight?”

Another cricket sprung to life inside Thranduil’s head. And that cricket rallied as many cricket friends as possible to aid the second cricket in its quest to give the first cricket a new lease on life!

There is only one time Delieth ever painted him: when he was holding their newborn baby: Legolas Greenleaf. It was absolutely atrocious. She hadn’t painted people in years. But they kept it anyway!

When Legolas chanced upon the Forbidden Painting, she said it was the first painting she’d crafted after a major wrist injury.

“Is your wrist okay now, Ama?” he asked, tears in his eyes. He was a young Elven prince. He knew nothing of major pains or deceit. He didn’t have to. Ada and Ama could be majorly pained and deceitful for him. Delieth had an easily wounded pride too―over that horrific painting! She was just trying to capture the tender side of her husband and the joy of their baby! Yet instead, she brought a new Dark Lord into this world!

“My wrist is perfectly fine, sweetie,” she said. Well, it was true. Her wrist was perfectly fine!

You think you own whatever land you land on.

The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim.

But I know every rock and tree and creature

Has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

Judy Kuhn, Colors of the Wind.

Our guy really needs to stop taunting Legolas! He is correct, people need harder lessons than animals, but my god, our guy needs to leave that poor boy alone! Legolas is never going to understand that you need to be dishonorable and deceitful sometimes! He is perfectly safe in his home, our guy wasn’t.

It would’ve been fantastic if our guy’s mom had died―she was garbage! And so was his dad for bringing multiple children into that marriage! He was so obsessed with starting a pack that he didn’t even consider her problems with her own pack, never mind what she wanted out of theirs. And then they rained their problems down on all their kids!

The only reason there weren’t more kids is because our guy’s mom almost died giving birth to the youngest one! Our guy might’ve ended up with even more Caranthirs to try and inevitably fail to get under control. Fëanor may not have loved his siblings, but he never would’ve done that to Nerdanel!

You think Mandos is judgy? Oh no!

Some sins haven’t been committed yet!

Give our guy a goddamn break! He is not only studying the complicated and confusing customs of Arda, but also translating them for Chu: a sweet, innocent, magical mouse from a world with zero people at all! And whose meanies eventually mellowed out. The Ardan meanies won’t! And the wargs will definitely not be joining our rescue team! They will insist on staying with their original trainers! We can’t rescue everybody. We need to rescue our guy from the hell that is starting chapter one!

Like we keep saying, he is the ultimate perfectionist. You think Tolkien was fiddly with The Silmarillion? Our guy’s even worse! This is what he’s doing for a story set in a world that’s not even his. Imagine how even more horribly slow he’s going to write when it’s his own world at stake!

Some truths need to come to pass. Besides, the Dwarves don’t even respect Lady Galadriel: Middle-Earth’s resident witch-queen and Dark Lord hunter. Why should he do anything for them? He has chosen his side: the Elves!

Which pets are blessed

With the fairest forms and faces?

Which pets know best

All the gentle social graces?

Which pets live

On cream and loving pats?

Naturellement! The aristocats!

Richard & Robert B. Sherman, The Aristocats.

What he will do for the Dwarves is name Glóin, son of Gróin’s wife. Not just any name, he’s giving her the name of a goddess! Freyja, a magical, beautiful goddess of love and war! She wisely kept her baby home. Her husband was going to be fighting a dragon! Absolutely not! Dragons are hard to slay―when you’re not the Dovahkiin~.

“I’m working hard to keep you alive and this home in shape for when he comes back! I need the best backup possible: you! I know you want to go on that adventure, but you haven’t grown enough yet.”

She didn’t know if he’d come back or not, but we do!

Storytelling over! Let’s get this show on the road!

All he has to do is do what he does best and speak softly, and anyone else in Arda can carry a big stick for him! Besides, the pen is mightier than the sword anyway. At least until he learns real swordsmanship skills. Skyrim swordsmanship sucks! There’s more to dueling than waving your swords around!

“Speak softly, carry a big stick” is an American saying originally attributed to President Theodore Roosevelt. It refers to his style of diplomacy: play nice, but also have strength in reserve in case others act up.

Imagine if Gil-Galad died or retired, and you could pick the new successor. The choices you’ve got to pick from are Nerdanel and Fëanor.

You’re probably thinking, “Pick Nerdanel! She’s wiser, she ought to know what she’s doing―she can’t possibly be worse than Fëanor at any rate!”

Now imagine there’s an army of Nerdanels and Fëanors to pick from. The Fëanors work better together, but they want to actively make the world worse. And the Nerdanels, as those with gifts of prophecy, know there’s tons of problems with this world, but none of them know how to pick one problem to solve first―or work together.

And now imagine you have to make this same decision again every 4-8 years. Every two or three years when you’re picking Lords and Ladies. On top of paying your bills and all the other things you need to do to actually stay alive long enough to care about these stupid cat fights that Americans claim are politics.

And then the Nerdanels in particular wonder why there’s such a low voter turnout… Well, maybe if you idiots gave a damn about the actual people whose votes you’re seeking!

There are no politics to handle in Arda. The king is the king. Fantastic! Sometimes, there’s too many choices to make. And Americans are terrible at making good choices!

Americans have decided, in the middle of a pandemic that has killed over 5 million people, that they don’t actually want to fight off the virus, they want everybody to be healthy enough to get back to work.

And in general, American security forces kill whatever they want! Including children and animals who are playing in their own backyards with toys that couldn’t possibly be mistaken for weapons.

Ardan Elves really ought to appreciate the “greedy and stubborn” neighbors that they got. Dwarves’ve got nothing on Americans!

Americans might live charmed lives compared to Ardans, but you cannot fight a pandemic by doing whatever the hell you want! When it’s literal warfare, everybody’s like “Whoo-hoo! Let’s kill as many enemies as possible! Sink as much money as we got! More money for our military, which is already the best military on the planet, so we absolutely need to spend the majority of our money on more warfare toys… Instead of say: education, hospitals, roads, orphanages, the arts, or literally anything else that would actually improve people’s lives! Yes, warfare is what we should be prioritizing culturally…”

We may call our country The United States of America, but we sure aren’t acting united. Warfare is more than just enemies you can see.

The Free Peoples of Middle-Earth would all be horrified at how we’re acting! We’re acting like children!

Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn would be ashamed of us! Forget about the Orcs, the most corrupt People is us. Arda doesn’t need another warfare-crazed, treasure-obsessed child. It needs Harnor (Wounded One / Wounder), Calemir (Green Jewel), Acharor (Avenger): a silly little boy who’s pen-ultimate goal is to sail to Valinor in order to hero-worship Nerdanel! And Fëanor’s second mom and siblings too! He doesn’t know anything about them, but one of them sired Lady Galadriel! Clearly, he did something right!

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. He doesn’t want magic, he just wants a loving family. And a body he can live in. Some people like playing certain roles, others don’t. He’ll make a man out of himself with or without Lord Glorfindel’s help!

What does he need Lord Glorfindel for? Calemir’s the best Balrog-slayer ever! He Balrog-slays them to sleep! “Lucky, use Rest right now!” Besides, Shadow of Chaos is a better lord than Lord Glorfindel! Lord Glorfindel’s too pure to be the Dremora Lord of anything! Shadow of Chaos is a Dremora Lord. Of a sort~.

Our guy’s also a better Maglor than Maglor!

1. He’s more strongly-voiced. A single swear word is enough to get everybody’s attention in Arda. That’s what strong language is good for! He knows not to abuse that power.
2. He’s more commanding. Can Maglor command animals? No! No, he can’t!
3. He’s a better minstrel too! His instrument minstrels for him! He’s also giving Maglor’s flesh grandmother Míriel something pleasant to weave amidst Maglor and the rest of his good-for-nothing his brothers slaughtering and starving children.

Fuck Maglor! He left Elrond and Elros in a cave! He’s lucky Gil-Galad found them and not Morgoth! He’s completely irresponsible!!! He’s terrible at babysitting too! Forget about bullying Legolas Greenleaf, let’s bully Maglor instead! What’s he gonna do about it? Come back to life?

He has no need for those Rowdyruff Boys! Lucky on his own is a better Caranthir than Caranthir anyway.

“Lockdown? Lockdown??? Lockdown, where are you!?!”

“I’m right here! Did you forget we’re playing hide-and-seek?”

“N-no.”

“Liar! Well, never mind that. Fëanor has twins: Amrod and Amros. You know what that means!”

“Twin battle! Twin battle! Twin battle! We’ll practice on Elrohir and Elladan, upgrade to Fíli and Kíli, and then Amrod and Amros are the boss battle!”

“The problem is, they’re dead.”

“Don’t Elves reincarnate eventually?”

“Not these ones. They did the Kin-Slayings, so Mandos said, ‘No! None of you are ever seeing Valinor again!'”

“Aren’t these the ones Nerdanel really wanted to stay with her, and then Fëanor lied and told her, ‘No! They all want to come with me’?”

“Yep!”

“Did he even ask them if they wanted to stay with her?”

“Nope!”

“Wow, what a loving husband and father! Their kids need to kin-slay him! And Nerdanel needs to get a divorce!”

“Well, first of all, we need to explain what a divorce is. And secondly, they pretty much already are. Look, Maglor throws his Simaril away anyway―might as well grab it while we’re here.”

“What’s a Simaril?”

“It’s basically the internet, but worse.”

“Wow. What an impressive inventor.”

“It was impressive for the time!”

“Well, we’re from a better time! So what do you suppose happens to someone who dies in the Halls of Mandos? Let’s test it on that stupid old man! With the Dragon Gun!!! The Dragon Gun’s the only gun we need!”

“That’s right it is! Let’s bring guns to this sword fight! The writer of these books―who stupidly forgot to name a lot of important women, including half the royalty that he was allegedly so obsessed with―thought technology and industry were inherently evil. Let’s prove him right! Axes to the Foxes!!! Let’s kill Fëanor back to life!”

“We need to stay in quarantine for at least two weeks anyway. We don’t want to spread any diseases―including the disease that’s killed almost 6 million people across two years. We’re pretty sure our guy doesn’t have it, but we’re playing it safe! Ardan Elves may not be able to catch diseases, but Skyrim Elves can―and so can Amulurian Elves (if we even need to bring them in), and Ardan Dwarves, Humans, and Hobbits. We also need to build up his own immune system to Ardan diseases. We may be Globuk (All Fools), but Ardan Elves are the reason our guy’s obsessed with Elves in the first place. The most important part of a redemption story is knowing who wants to be redeemed. Morgoth abuses his own animals and people, we’re not sending him any magical animals! You know what our guy’s ultimate power fantasy is? Where everyone loves and embraces him exactly as he is. He needs higher standards than that! He needs the highest standards possible! Forget about all these stupid Elven kings! We’re going over their heads! We’re going to Manwë Súlimo and Varda Elentári, the king and the queen of the Valar!”

“That’s right we are!!! Forget about being the prince of the Woodland Realm, he can be the Ardan god of princes! The trees of Lothlórien may be silly, but foxes know exactly what they’re doing! There’s a pretty easy way he can get Eru Ilúvatar himself on board with loving our guy. ‘Hey, Eru! A stupid human man―who’s thankfully dead―thinks he created this world! Forget about Morgoth, the ultimate deceiver is him!'”

“And there’s an even better curse to lay on Fëanor than the Curse of Calemir and the Doom of Mandos! Will Nerdanel want him back even if we do get him out of the Halls of Mandos?”

“Between him and the Skitty, I think she’ll prefer the Skitty! And unlike Fëanor, that Skitty will not: make Nerdanel’s kids swear an oath to slay as much kin as possible in order to get their internet back, reject Nerdanel’s names for their kids, or refuse to spend time with his step-siblings / half-siblings―whatever they technically are! For the measly, out of their control ‘crime’ of not having his mommy’s blood.”

“That last one’s more his dad’s fault than theirs! More on that later, let’s get this show on the road!”

“Oh goddammit! He just noticed that Curufin’s wifey has a Valarin Quenya name and not an Exilic Quenya name like Caranthir’s wifey! No! It’s good enough!!! It’s just fine!”

“Unless we want to switch back over to Mírriel (Maiden Garlanded in Jewels), which he ditched because it’s too similar to his grandma’s name, even though it would be the perfect name for a jewelsmith’s wife, in theory. Stop fiddling with everything and publish this damn essay already!”

“Never mind, Alye works for both dialects of Quenya.”

“We all need to be named Daluchi! We all need to thank god that he gets anything done!”

“If anyone else is looking for easy Tolkien Elf names, check out RealElvish.net. That’s how he came up with all the names. He worked off what he knew about the boys, and then picked out names based on what would complement their personalities / skills. Maybe chuck a few bucks into their lawyer’s fees too.”

“The reason he’s not bothered by Maglor’s wife having a Valinorian Quenya name is because he’s assuming they met in happier times, before the Kin-Slaying and all that.”

“And the reason Thranduil and Delieth’s story is less fiery than the other tales is because, given how she died in the Peter Jackson movies, she wouldn’t want a story fueled by such passions. And he wants to give her an idea of what her life might’ve been like had she lived long enough for Legolas to form memories of her.”

“Since the allegedly royalty-obsessed Tolkien wrote jack all about her, we’re going with the version of her story where she has a definitive death: Peter Jackson’s! Tolkien thinks he’s obsessed with royalty!? Oh no! Our guy’s more obsessed with royalty! He’s been obsessing over Legolas since he was a child. But he’s decided that’s a childish obsession. There’s a better Woodland Realmer who’s more deserving of his obsessive mind: Captain Tauriel! A working class woman who can use Ardan healing magic―which not just anybody can learn, by the way. Legolas has plenty of admirers. Captain Tauriel needs an admirer more.”

“Always respect the healers!!!”

“Assuming they’re not racist, ableist, ageist, etc. Doctors are people, too. And medicine has its institutional flaws like everything else. Here’s John Oliver, the most beloved of hornbills, taking a dive into bias in medicine.”

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph’s shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago, and the tale, boldly told, of the one!

Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man, with a power to rival the sun!

And the Voice, he did wield, on that glorious field, when great Tamriel shuddered with war!

Mighty Thu’um, like a blade, cut through enemies all, as the Dragonborn issued his roar!

And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled!

Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!

But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon’s lies, will be silenced forever and then!

Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin’s maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph’s shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

Jeremy Soule, Lost in Sovngarde.